


Hello, Dolly

by bellatemple



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-07
Updated: 2009-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatemple/pseuds/bellatemple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The angels took Dean's soul back from Hell, but that doesn't mean that Lilith doesn't still hold his contract.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello, Dolly

**Author's Note:**

> I seriously have no idea where this came from, but you've got to love those fics that you write and even _you're_ distrubed by them. Right?

"Wake up, Dolly."

Dean's eyes sprang open as he shot to hard consciousness, one instant out, the next aware, with no comforting buffer in between. He stared up into the dark eyes of the brunette girl, maybe eight or nine years old, who sat perched on his chest, her elbows digging into his sternum.

He recognized her instantly, though he'd never seen the body before.

 _Lilith._

"There you are, sleepy head!" she said cheerfully, sitting upright so that her whole weight rested on the bottom edge of his ribs. It was impossible to breathe. "I thought you were gonna snooze the whole day away."

Dean thought of several very strong, very bad names to call the little girl, but his mouth remained stubbornly shut, his arms lax at his sides. There was a gauzy appearance to the air around Lilith, and it took him a few moments to recognize it as the sheer pink curtains of a four poster bed. His bare feet were hanging off the end of it, and out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a stuffed panda.

 _What the hell?_

Lilith rolled off his body and bounced on the mattress next to him, gracing him with a gap-toothed grin.

"Betcha you're wondering what's going on."

And then some.

"It's simple, silly. I own your soul. The stupid-head angels are keeping me from sending it back to Hell, but I still own it. And I want my money's worth." She reached out a hand and flicked him in the center of the forehead, making a little "doink!" noise and giggling. "So I figured I'd just own your body, too. So we still get to play."

Dean's heart raced as he tried once again to swear. To grab her arms and throw her off the bed. Hell, even to roll over, but he couldn't move.

She owned him, apparently. Body and soul.

 _Fuck._

"So," she said, folding her legs into a kneel and leaning over his face again. "Guess what we're doing today."

Dean could think of any number of things -- horrible things, straight out of the Pit -- that she could have in mind, and he felt bile rise in his throat.

"Guess," she said again, and this time his mouth worked.

"What?"

She grinned again, a blinding expression of pure childhood glee that set his teeth on edge, and he held his breath.

"Rollerskating!"

. . .

Wait, _what?_

* * *

An hour later, Dean was wobbling his way down a ridiculously long, hardwood-floored hallway in a pair of old school roller skates two sizes too small for him, wearing a pink tutu with a purple leotard hanging around his neck on a pastel satin lined hanger. Lilith had been _terribly_ disappointed to discover that there was no way the tiny spandex thing would ever fit on his full-sized body. The demon herself was perched on his shoulders, wearing a bright yellow velor tracksuit and pink Barbie skates, which she thumped heavily into his chest in time with her girlish squees of pleasure, her hands fisted in his short hair to keep her balance when he occasionally went sideways into a wall.

This . . . this was a whole new kind of Hell. Alastair himself could never dream of this sort of creativity.

One end of the hall was ended in the girl's bedroom, all decked out in pink and white and containing an almost obscene number of stuffed toys. The other end hooked around a corner into what Dean could only imagine was the rest of the house, since there were no other doorways along the long hall. The walls here were painted a soft, dusky wheat color, and lined with professional portraits of a family, the little girl Lilith was possessing beaming out from between two young, good looking parents, clutching a small terrier, or posing next to an older boy who was clearly her brother. A mirror at the end of the hall showed him what a ridiculous pair he and Lilith made, him in too-small sweat pants that probably belonged to the girl's father, bare-chested but for the leotard, with a strange red symbol painted across his forehead, glistening faintly, Lilith atop it all with her head tucked in to keep it from knocking against the ceiling.

He could only pray that when Sam came to find him -- and he refused to think that his little brother might not manage that -- he didn't have a camera with him. A decade of torturing souls in Hell was one thing. He knew he could never make up for that, but he knew, at least, how to try. _This_ he would never, ever live down.

A woman, an auburn haired version of the girl on his shoulders, leaned cautiously into the hallway and obscured his view of the mirror. Her eyes widened at the sight of him and Lilith, terror written across her features, though she seemed to be making an effort to hide it. She smiled weakly.

"Sweetheart," she said. "What -- what are you doing?"

"Rollerskating, Mommy!" Lilith thumped her skates into Dean's chest one more time, then slapped her hand flat onto his head. "Down, now."

Dean halted his progress with a hand on the wall and gratefully sank to his knees, bending forward to let her off. His neck was screaming at him, and his shoulders ached. Lilith kept one hand on his head to keep him from getting up. "Introduce yourself," she said firmly, and Dean swallowed.

"My name is De --"

"No!" She shrieked the syllable in his ear and he managed a wince. "Do it _right_."

He swallowed again, not looking up at the woman, only a few years older than he was, and the sort whom, if he'd met her in a bar, he'd've been all over. "My name is --" He closed his eyes. "Dolly."

"Isn't he great, Mommy?"

He heard the woman let out a shaky breath and looked up just enough to see her press a shaking hand to the base of her throat as she looked down at him, horror and pity clear in her expression. "He's . . . he's wonderful, sweetheart."

Lilith laughed and skated in a circle, her arms in the air. "I'm gonna keep him forever and ever. We'll have tea parties and play dress up and he'll stop anyone who's ever mean to me. Isn't that right, Dolly?"

 _No. No. Nonononononono --_ "That's right." _Fuuuuuuuuck._

"Oh," said the mother. "That's good. Would. Would Dolly. Like something to eat?"

"Ice cream!"

"Ice cream it is."

"And gum drops!"

"Okay."

"And candy canes!"

"We don't have any --"

" _And candy canes._ "

"And -- and candy canes."

"Yay!"

Dean slowly straightened, catching the mother's eye again. He tried to express every ounce of sympathy and reassurance he had in himself as a hunter with one glance. By the look on her face, still filled with that horrible mixture of terror and pity, it didn't work.

Lilith skated happily past the woman into what turned out to be an open-planned kitchen and dining room area, still shouting joyously at her impending breakfast. Dean wobbled slowly along after her, pausing only when the mother pressed a hand to the leotard on his chest.

"I'm so sorry," she said softly.

Without Lilith's permission to speak, Dean could only stare back.

* * *

Lilith made him eat ice cream and gum drops and peppermints -- as close to candy canes as the mother could get in April, apparently -- until he could feel the cold, sugary sweetness sitting at the bottom of his throat. His stomach cramped horribly, but he smiled through out the meal and made "mmmm" noises every time he was prompted. He couldn't get up from the table until Lilith told him to, and his gut was currently telling him that that could be a very, very, _very_ bad thing very shortly.

Lilith was, apparently, not completely oblivious to the needs of a normal human body, because once they were done with desert (yes, the sugary meal came with a desert of ice cream sandwiches with chocolate chips), she turned to her mother and announced that they needed to go shopping.

"I need to get some diapers for Dolly."

If Dean had been able to, he would have choked on the ice cream attempting to launch a return invasion on his mouth. The mother's eyes went wide again and she turned to stare at Dean incredulously. Dean looked back as pleadingly as he could with the grin still plastered across his face.

"D-don't you think Dolly would be happier using the -- the bathroom, sweetie?"

Lilith pouted. The mother, bless her, kept trying.

"He's a big boy dolly, honey. Only babies use diapers."

"He's _my_ Dolly."

"Y-yes, honey. Of course he is. B-but you picked a big boy dolly. And big boy dollies use toilets."

Lilith tilted her head, peering at Dean consideringly, and though Dean had never been a praying man, he prayed hard and frantically in his head that she would take her mother's advice.

". . . Okay."

 _Thank you thank you thank you._

"But maybe he can be a baby dolly, later."

 _Fuck._

* * *

"My daddy's off in the war," Lilith told him later, as she applied large amounts of blush to his cheeks and nose. "He's off in Iraq killing lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of heathens. Isn't that great?"

Dean flashed her a lipstick coated smile and wished he had a gun so he could shoot himself in the head.

* * *

They rollerskated a lot. That long hallway was really practically built for just that. Sometimes they went outside, where Lilith would make him wear a hat -- or, sometimes, a tiara -- to cover up the bloody, glistening symbol that never seemed to dry on his forehead, and the other kids would climb on Dean and Lilith would make him pretend to be a unicorn and make him push her on the swings.

Meals were unfailingly sweet, and Dean started to get used to going around with a constant stomach ache.

She made him brush her hair and sing along to little girl pop. They'd play hide and seek and she'd close him in the closet of her bedroom for hours on end, stuck in the dark with the dirty clothes and old, broken toys until she felt like letting him out.

At night, they slept in her little girl bed, his feet always sticking off the end, her head pillowed on his shoulder while her mother read them a story. She'd order him to sleep, making him drop off instantly and dreamlessly, or she'd fall asleep first and he'd be stuck lying there, staring at the popcorn ceiling until morning.

Sometimes, she'd put one of the stuffed animals over his face and hold it down until he was certain that she was going to kill him and put him out of his misery, only to pull it away just as he was losing consciousness and shout "PEEKABOO!" at the tops of her lungs.

He never found out what happened to her brother or her dog. Her mother never lost that desperate, pitying look when she saw them.

Very rarely, Lilith would leave him alone in the apartment to go off and do some end of the world business, and he would find himself free to roam around, curse, piss, shave, and generally act like a normal human being, though whatever Lilith had done to him still kept him from leaving the apartment or using the phone or computer. When her mother -- Amanda -- was home, he'd talk to her, trying to explain what happened to her little girl and get her to call Bobby or Sam, but she would just shake her head mutely, her eyes going even more terrified until Dean was forced to change the subject.

It was on one of these days that he found the answer. He couldn't use it, not yet, not while the damned spell or whatever it was was still keeping him enslaved to Lilith, but it gave him hope.

Someday. Someday he would use it, and it would all be over.

It was hard to keep track of the days, but he thought that maybe a month or a little more had gone by before someday finally reared its surprisingly ugly head.

* * *

"Wake up, Dolly."

His eyes snapped open, the way they always did when Lilith woke him up.

"We have a visitor, today."

He rolled his head on the pillow, license given in that sentence to look, and wished he could speak. Wished he could leap out of the too small bed and let out a shout and, hey, while he was wishing, rip Lilith out of the poor little girl she was possessing and tear her into so much hellish confetti.

Sam stood in the middle of the room, plaid shirt dirty and incongruous with all the little girl daintiness surrounding them, and his forehead was bare.

Sam was _here_. And he was in control. And, Dean hoped, not evil.

It was kinda hard to tell. That expression of pure hatred could have been directed at either Lilith or himself, considering the way Lilith was hovering over him, and Sam wasn't using his brain-exorcism mojo, yet.

"Isn't it exciting?" Lilith whispered in Dean's ear as she pressed something into his hand. "I've been waiting for him to come. Now we're going to play a special game." Dean's hand closed around the object, a large wooden-handled cleaver from the kitchen. "It's called 'To the Death'. And you, Dolly, are going to win."

Dean rolled out of the bed, moving smoothly to his bare feet, the cleaver clenched in his right hand. He looked up at Sam through his lashes, searching for some sign of his little brother in the huge, terrifyingly angry man who seemed to fill half the room, then lunged forward, stabbing the cleaver at his little brother's gut.

Sam deflected it easily, and the game was on.

* * *

It wasn't the most evenly matched fight the brothers had ever had. Dean had the advantage of the weapon, sure, and the fact that it very quickly became clear that Sam was doing his best not to hurt him. But Dean was also weakened from weeks of eating nothing but sweets and not getting the right amount of sleep, while Sam had spent that time at the top of his game. Lilith's spell gave Dean some extra strength, but Sam still outweighed him. After several minutes of back and forth, three dead stuffed animals (the panda, a giraffe, and something brightly colored that seemed to be vaguely elephant-shaped), a busted closet door, and a shredded set of curtains, Sam had the cleaver clutched in his hand and Dean pinned to the wall. Lilith continued shouting orders as Sam brought the cleaver up level with Dean's eyes, held back only by the waning strength in Dean's arms.

"You're doing it wrong, Dolly!" Lilith was shouting. " _Kill_ him!"

Dean's grip slipped and Sam slashed forward with the clever, opening up a long gash right. Across. Dean's forehead.

Dean gasped harshly as he felt Lilith's control drain from his limbs and edge out of his mind. _Finally!_ He quickly took in the situation, noting that Sam's giant head was blocking Lilith's direct view of the proceedings, despite her bouncing up and down on the bed to try to see over him, and Sam was staring into his eyes as though trying to read his thoughts in his retinas.

Dean had had quite some time to plan this out in his head, and though a death match with Sam was almost never involved, he was a master improviser. He shifted his grip on Sam's arm, staring back into his brother's eyes, and without saying a word, hooked his foot behind Sam's ankle and twisted, throwing his brother to the floor and pinning him with an arm across his throat. He leaned in, curling his lips and keeping his head down while Lilith clapped her hands in glee.

"Yes, Dolly, kill him!"

Sam's expression went defeated for a moment, then more determined, and he grabbed onto Dean's arm to try and force it back. Dean only had a few seconds. He pressed in, getting his mouth as close to Sam's ear as he could.

"Aim for the dresser."

Confusion flashed momentarily across Sam's eyes, then they hardened and he nodded once. Dean pulled back far enough for Sam to get his knees up, and then he was suddenly airborne, flying backwards to the dresser, arms flailing.

His left fist landed on a large, ceramic ballerina music box, knocking it to the floor and sending its contents scattering. In a split second, Dean pounced on one object in particular, large, cold, heavy and _familiar_ , and he brought it to bear on Lilith without hesitation.

*BANG*

He caught her mid-bounce and she flew backwards into the wall before slumping unmoving, eyes wide and shocked, to the bedspread, leaving a red and gray stain on the pink walls.

Dean slumped to his knees. Sam pushed himself up on his elbows. Somewhere at the other end of the hallway, a door slammed and a woman -- Amanda -- cried out.

It was over.

* * *

Castiel arrived almost the same moment that Lilith bounced her last, stepping out of the closet with the sound of feathers and looming over the body of the little girl for a moment before reaching out to close her eyes. Amanda appeared in the doorway only a second later, her mouth wide and her eyes watering with what Dean could only imagine was a heartbreaking mix of grief and relief.

"What happened?"

Dean made no move to stand.

"It's over."

Amanda looked over at him, noting the gun in his hand and the blood on his face. "You -- you --"

"I shot her."

Sam took a deep, heaving breath somewhere on Dean's right. "You did the right thing."

"My daughter."

Castiel looked up from where he loomed over the body of the little girl. "Is with my father."

"Who are you people? Dolly?"

Dean stared down at his hands, not even able to summon the energy to wince at the hated name. "My name is Dean Winchester. That's my brother, Sam. And Castiel."

Castiel turned, bowing slightly at Amanda. "Your daughter is at peace, now."

Amanda shook her head. "She -- she wasn't --"

"She was possessed," Sam offered, shrugging one shoulder like he knew he wouldn't be believed. Amanda nodded.

"Dol -- Dean told me. When she was -- he said you'd _exorcise_ her."

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered, still staring at his hands.

"You must know," Castiel said, taking a step towards Amanda. "Lilith --"

"Her name was Jessica."

Sam sucked in a hard breath.

"She was nine years old."

Dean closed his eyes.

"She -- she was going to be a figure skater."

Dean huffed an exhausted, humorless laugh. "That explains the rollerskating." He hefted the weight of the Colt in his hand and chanced a glance up at Lilith's -- Jessica's -- body. "I'm so sorry."

"Lilith," Castiel said again, emphasizing the name carefully, "was not your daughter, Amanda. She was evil, and she needed to be stopped. It's regrettable that Jessica had to pass to do so, but she's at peace, now. Take comfort in that."

Dean glanced up. Amanda's expression, always so scared and sympathetic during the weeks he'd been prisoner here, as now hard and cold. "Get out."

"Amanda," Castiel said.

"Get. Out."

Dean nodded and pushed himself to his feet. The room swayed back and forth twice before Sam grabbed hold of his arm. Castiel stared passively at Amanda.

"I. . . ." He frowned, seeming to stumble over the phrase. "I am sorry. For your loss."

"Get out."

They did.

* * *

Dean settled into the leather of the passenger seat of the Impala with a heavy sigh. His baby's seats seemed to cup his tired body, wrapping him up in what was one of the only kinds of hugs he'd ever received.

It was like coming home.

"Dean," Sam said, his hand lingering on the ignition key without turning it. "You know you had to."

"Yeah, Sam."

Sam gripped the key, poised to turn it, then paused again. "It's really over. The demons don't have a leader, now. And we've got the Colt."

Dean nodded, patting the weapon where it sat between them.

Sam turned the car on and slowly pulled out onto the road. They drove in silence for some distance, passing out of the metropolitan area and into the suburbs and then the boonies, then the boonies of the boonies before Sam spoke again.

"I wanted it," he said. Dean grunted, not needing to ask what he meant, but Sam continued anyway. "I wanted to be the one to do it."

Dean sighed again, his forehead pressed to the cold glass of the window. "I'm sorry."

Another mile of silence.

"I get to shoot the next one."

Dean shivered, thinking of the little body crumpling to the bedspread, of the look on Amanda's face when she realized she was never going to get her little girl, her little Jessica, back.

"Yeah, Sam." He nudged the Colt closer to Sam with his knee. "Next time."

 _Finis_


End file.
